


Red Light

by mochywrites



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - K-Pop AU, Coffee Shops, Dancer Lance (Voltron), Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Idol Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is a fanboy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, Texting, The author struggles to balance k-pop elements and voltron elements, YouTuber Lance (Voltron), k-pop elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-09-30 12:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17224109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochywrites/pseuds/mochywrites
Summary: Keith is an idol, loved internationally by his fans: his Red Lions. Lance is a Youtuber with 22k subscribers. There shouldn't be any situation where they meet.A K-Pop in public dance challenge and an early dance dismissal stirs up everything that Keith has grown used to. Keith's comeback schedule is about to get more hectic as Lance dances his way into Keith's life. (It's a good thing he's cute.)[AKA the idol! keith au i've been wanting to write since i saw a fanart of keith with the idol haircut on tumblr a while ago]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i had a need for idol!keith for a while now and sometimes, you have to create the specific content you want to see in the world.
> 
> this will probably get angsty because i love making my faves suffer.
> 
> don't forget to leave kudos or comment if you enjoy!
> 
> Not Beta-Read

Keith is finally given a break when his knees hit the studio floor with a heavy thump for the third time that afternoon. The music is shut off barely two seconds after, and two sneaker-clad feet appear in his line of vision.

Panting, Keith looks up to face his dance instructor. “I’m sorry, I can keep going—”

“There’s no point to practicing the sequence incorrectly.” Kolivan says curtly, then softens his tone. “What’s wrong? You had no problem with the choreography yesterday.”

Yesterday, Keith thinks almost bitterly, he had been able to catch a fast nap in-between his Korean lessons and dance practices. Yesterday he hadn’t felt the gnawing in his stomach from hunger and over exhaustion. He hated the diets the company put him on, but he knew it was for the best. In Keith’s line of business, his looks were everything.

The long skin-care regime he’d been assigned proved that.

Keith couldn’t complain, though. This was exactly what he wanted. He’d turned down Shiro’s offer to house Keith in America for a dance opportunity for the chance to be an idol. Growing up in South Korea had given Keith new options that Shiro just didn’t have in America—namely, the chance to do something more challenging than joining a dance crew and maybe making it big in the US. Keith had worked too hard for years leading up to his debut to complain about a little exhaustion. Besides, all idols had similar schedules, and none of them had complained about it.

“I don’t know, sir.” Keith quickly stood to bow, dropping his eyes to his feet. In the edges of his vision, his hands were still trembling slightly. Keith clutched them into fists. “I promise I’ll do better.”

“I know.” When Keith looks at him, Kolivan is pursing his lips. “Practice is over early. You’re about to fall over. Go home and rest, and we can continue this tomorrow.”

Keith nods. He gathers his belongings into his bag--the hoodie he’d been wearing upon arrival, and his water bottle—and slid his sunglasses onto his face before leaving the studio.

There was no way he was going home right now. In a few hours, he had a meeting to attend with his managers. If Keith went home now, he knows he’ll end up falling asleep on his bed until the following morning, and there was still so much he needed to do. He needed to work on finalizing more lyrics for the album, because the company had decided his original lyrics still needed tweaking, and he needed to wait for Kolivan to finish up at the studio before Keith went back and added some more practice on his own.

Keith wasn’t the best dancer, he knew. He tried hard, though. He’d taken hip hop dance courses before signing himself up as a trainee years ago, his mother driving him wherever he needed to go until he had to move to Seoul permanently. She’d been proud, of course. Keith had been scouted at one of his dance recitals—He’d worked hard for the solo role that had gotten him noticed. Shiro had been proud too, when Keith had broken the news on Skype that night, but they had both underestimated how much work being an idol was.

Especially one as public as Keith was—as a solo act, he felt all of the pressure on himself. He didn’t have any groupmates to look up to, or to take comfort from as his friends from his trainee days had. At the moment, walking away from the dance studio on shaky legs and his head down to not be recognized, Keith envied Rolo and Nyma, the sibling act the fans loved. They supported each other. Shiro was a good support, but he didn’t know firsthand what Keith went through like Rolo and Nyma did.

Honestly, if he wasn’t sure they were busy with their own schedules, Keith would have called them to spend time with them. He missed the duo—they were outgoing and fun to be around outside of practice, perfectly balancing out the quiet personality Keith had always had. But no, Rolo and Nyma were getting ready for a comeback, much like Keith was, so they were just as busy.

Keith made a mental note to call Shiro later tonight—It had been a while since he’s had free time to get in touch with his brother.  
In fact, Keith brought out his phone. He’d left it open on a message from Shiro this morning, so he quickly sent out a message.

**Keith (12:01pm)**  
Got out of practice early. Skype later?

Remembering time-zones suddenly, Keith quickly sent another message. He wouldn’t feel too bad if Shiro was up early to Skype since it would technically be a Sunday morning for him—Shiro rarely did anything on Sundays, unlike Keith.

**Keith [12:02pm]**  
If you’re not busy by then.

**Shiro [12: 02pm]**  
For you? Never. What time were you thinking?

**Keith [12:07]**  
Midnight? 10am for you

**Shiro [12:09]**  
See you then 😊

  
  
Feeling marginally more relaxed now that he had something to look forward to after his meetings, Keith decided to take a longer stroll around the city. He felt relatively good, all things considered, and nobody had recognized him yet. He made his way towards where he knew there was a nice cluster of shops—Seoul was large, and definitely had more expensive stores he could shop at, but Keith sometimes enjoyed looking through where he’d use to shop before his salary got bigger with his fame. 

Plus, there was a square with a nice fountain. He could probably take a few pictures there for his twitter followers—the company had to remind him a few weeks ago how rarely he posted, and how it was bad for fan moral. Keith honestly hadn’t realized he didn’t post as much as other idols did—in fact, he thought he posted too much. He didn’t understand how or why people wanted to see pictures of him so much, but the data didn’t lie.

So, Keith now made a point to take a couple pictures every time he had a free moment. The company had been happier, for sure, so he knew he was doing something right. If even Manager Zarkon was pleased, Keith was doing pretty damn amazing.

There was a crowd in front of where Keith knew the fountain should be when he arrived, and for a moment he felt a flash of fear of his location being leaked again—it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to ambush him out in the open—but nobody was looking at him.

Keith took a moment to calm his rapidly beating heart, assuring himself that nobody was looking at him right now, and let his curiosity finally flood over him.  
What was gathering a crowd if it wasn’t him? Was it another idol? Had Lotor decided to come here—no, Lotor preferred to do his shopping at Apgujeong. He had refined his tastes now that he could afford it, Keith remembered with faint amusement. Shopping with Lotor was always an experience-and-a-half.

The closer Keith got, the clearer what he assumed was background music for the shops became—and then his face flushed dark red.

The familiar instrumental should have tipped him off, as well as the muscle memory making him more or less move into the choreography on instinct, but Keith didn’t realize it was his song playing loudly in the square until he heard his own voice echo.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard his songs in public before! Keith was well liked and well received. They tended to play up his natural shyness enough to boost his popularity to the masses, when they weren’t playing up his persona as RED. Keith was fairly popular, he knew.

However, that didn’t mean he didn’t still get a little bit flustered when he heard his old songs—the ridiculously cringe-worthy ones the company had encouraged during his debut when he’d been wearing darker eyeliner that was necessary and dressed in black leathers. It was even more embarrassing to hear the fan-chants outside of a stadium. It was motivating to hear it, of course, but Keith had always felt a little shy when he wasn’t in the Zone like he was during performances.

Keith quickly got over his embarrassment when he noticed four figures dancing to his song, right in front of the fountain. The three positioned on the sides and the back were dancing to the choreography of his background dancers, he noticed happily. They were holding up well too, despite it being obvious they had no training in dance. Their moves were too tense. Nonetheless, Keith enjoyed it.

The one in the center was coping Keith’s own choreography, however. He didn’t look close enough at that one, still feeling slightly mortified over what he’d been taught years ago. Debuts were always what Shiro called “edgy”. What made Keith pay attention though was the flawless execution of a split, and then quickly righting himself all within beat.

A dancer.

Keith’s face broke into a smile. He’d figured out who the one orchestrating this performance was. The boy in the front—a foreigner, oddly enough, just like the other three—wore a charming smile. He flawlessly eased from move to move, not as awkward with his long limbs as Keith usually noticed people were.

The song ended, and the four dancers froze in the ending pose. Around Keith, the sound of his song cut off as clapping from the small crowd filled the square. Beams broke across the four dancers as they broke formation, waving to the crowd.

The smallest dancer, a girl with short brown hair and round glasses, broke away from the group and in perfect—but slightly accented, Keith noticed—Korean, said, “Thank you! Our Youtube channel is Paladance Crew! Please check it out!”

“Be sure to follow LancelotOfDance too!” The middle dancer, the tall one, added with a chirp, also in Korean.

Keith was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t every day that foreigners came to this part of Seoul, much less ones who knew the language. He clapped along with the crowd, even more impressed now. The mass of people was beginning to scatter, the dancers turning back to each other and pulling each other into a group hug. The big man surprised Keith with a voice higher than he’d been expecting when he said, “We did it!”

He spoke in English.

Keith nodded to himself, confirming his theory of them being foreign—he pulled out his phone, making sure to note down the Youtube channels announced—they were definitely talented enough for him to want to view some more dance covers. Maybe there would be original choreography? He was excited at the thought.

A squeal broke him out of his concentration. Keith fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it as he looked up. He was startled to meet the eyes of the taller female with white hair looking at him. Her eyes were wide, hands over her mouth as horror dawned on her face.

Keith cursed. He pulled his face mask up from his neck, which, why hadn’t he done that before he’d been recognized? 

He smiled awkwardly— _though it wouldn’t be visible through the mask anyways, Keith, honestly why aren’t you thinking today_ —

“ _A-Annyeonghaseyo_!” The big one is eyeing him just as widely as the woman, so Keith sucks up his urge to run the fuck away, and waves his hand a little, bringing a single finger up to his lips in an obvious “shh!” motion.

Endearingly enough, the four of them nod, nearly in unison, at that. The smallest one breaks the stunned silence—the taller lanky boy looking like he’s about to vibrate out of his shoes. She takes a tentative step towards Keith, glancing at him for permission. Keith realizes that there’s absolutely no way he’s going to get out of this one, so he does the nice thing and slowly comes up to the group.

Slowly, because as adorable as he finds his fans, he has a healthy fear of them. Some of the more intense fans have gone as far as trying to get him away from security for who knows what, so Keith has built up a rule for himself: Approach fans with caution and be ready to run.

Keith returns the greeting as soon as he’s close enough, along with a polite bow of his head.

It’s as far as he gets before he’s once again endeared by the dancers. They’ve all taken to bowing comically low for him, the tallest one spewing out words so quickly his pronunciation starts to slip, and Keith is genuinely concerned when he hears a language he’s not even familiar with.

“Erm…” He says uncertainly, in English this time to be nice, “…Are you even speaking…English?”

He knows from the minute the four erupt into confused chatter—all in English this time—that they clearly hadn’t been expecting him to speak anything but Korean.

“I TOLD YOU HE KNOWS ENGLISH!” The smallest one shouts, her voice raspier than he expected. He eyes her curiously—honestly, Keith had expected her voice to be sweet and high like her looks suggested. It was an interesting change. “Those interviews you made me watch, Lance—I told you he wasn’t confused!”

“Yes, thank you Pidge, for shouting that when he’s right there!” The tall one snaps at her, then he seems to remember who Keith is, because he’s once again bowing. “Oh my god, hello! _Annyeonghaseyo! Hola_! I’m so glad to meet you, oh my god, I love your music so much, you don’t even know. I’m such a big fan. My name is Lance, thank you so much for watching us dance to your song, I hope we did it justice, oh my god you’re actually here—"

Keith snickers, then says very softly, because the fans react better to him when he's talking softer, “Please remember to breath.”

“Oh my god, I might be sick.” The big one turns away from Keith, a hand clutched over his mouth. “Oh my god, Lance, I’m going to—here it comes, oh god—” He rushes off, to the other sound of the fountain. Keith winces when he hears the unmistakable sound of retching.

“Is he alright?” He asks the small one, because the tall one appears to have stopped breathing again, and Keith is very concerned he might start crying soon like the tall women is—

Oh god, how does he get himself into these situations?

“Is there anything I can do?” He adds when the small one just nods at him, still a bit wide eyed but obviously in more control of herself than the others.

“My God, he’s an actual saint. It’s not just for the cameras, oh my—” The tall one gasps. He’s clutching his heart dramatically. Keith worries he’ll have an actual heart attack soon.

Keith isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just smiles behind his mask awkwardly, and starts to back up. “It has been nice to meet you—thank you for supporting me!”  
“Oh! Wait, please!” The tall women suddenly pipes up, pushing past the tall boy. Her English is accented—British? What was a British woman doing in Korea? “Would it be alright if we got a picture with you?”

“Ah, I shouldn’t…” Keith bites his lip nervously. The company has discouraged photos with the fans in the street for fear of bad exposure or dating rumors. Besides, when Keith used to stop for pictures, he’s been late to practices indulging his fans, and sometimes been hurt in their rush to all get their pictures, too. Pictures with fans was generally discouraged, but not necessarily banned.

“Please?” the small one pleads. “It’ll make Lance’s day, and I mean you kind of owe us for making Hunk hurl up his guts like he did—”

“Pidge!” the taller pair snap together while Keith is still processing the sentence.

“—So really, it’s like compensation for emotional damage, right?’ she finishes, her face utterly innocent despite the implication behind her words.

Keith’s smile is frozen on his face, fear beginning to creep down his spine. He must have run into a different kind of intense fan, he realizes. She could spread rumors about him not being friendly to his fans, which wouldn’t be such a big deal if other fans wouldn’t back her up. The fact remains though that Keith has never been as open to his fans as the company thinks he should be, during fan-signs, and there are already rumors of his rudeness.

Keith finds himself nodding. “Ah, alright.” He says instead, tense. He knows it’s useless, but he’s hoping the fans will at least respect his wish. “Please, don’t post these anywhere.”

The small one has the nerve to look guilty for a split second before she’s pulling out a green-case covered phone, tapping away at the screen.

Her voice is quiet when she says, “Lance, um, can you—”

The tall one slides up next to Keith, not touching him thankfully. Keith braces himself and slides his mask off, as well as his hood and his sunglasses. He plasters his stage smile on his face and shuffles just slightly closer to ‘Lance’. “Smile.”

He hears the shutter go off a few times before the small one is putting her phone down, and Keith rushes through photos with the other two—the big one looks properly apologetic—and a selfie with the small one.

As soon as it’s over, Keith pulls his cover back on.

“Thank you for your support.” He says stiffly with a bow. “I will work hard to continue to deserve such wonderful fans such as yourself.” After a moment, he straightens and adds kindly, “You dance very well.”

The dancers gape at him, even the small one caught off guard. Keith takes his chance and leaves the area.

He briefly mourns his opportunity to take photos by the fountain as he turns to return to the studio.

Keith still needs to practice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Beta-Read

Shiro drops the bomb on Keith twenty minutes into their Skype call, which is approximately ten minutes longer than Keith thought the call would last.

“I’m coming to Korea!” Shiro exclaims, throwing his arms up so much that everything but his biceps disappear from the pixelated screen.

Keith is understandably startled at the news. He hasn’t seen Shiro in years, not since dropping him off at the airport. Sure, keeping in contact through Skype and his private Snapchat was nice, but Keith hadn’t physically seen his brother in so long he’d started to wonder if Shiro was still taller, or if he still hugged with his entire body, or if he still had a nervous habit of playing with his hands when an attractive boy looked his way.

Keith missed Shiro.

His cheeks hurt from how much he’s smiling now, and maybe Keith is vibrating in his bed now, excited, because he’s going to see his brother after years, and he’s missed Shiro so much, and—

“Oh my god, you’re coming to Korea!” Keith yells. He’s glad he doesn’t have any other group members sharing a dorm with him, and that his single bedroom apartment is empty because nobody is going to hear how embarrassingly high the pitch in his voice gets. “Shiro! You’re going to come to Seoul!”

“Obviously!” Shiro is laughing now, his eyes shut and head thrown back with the force of it. He has a deeper laugh, Keith notices. It’s been a while since he’s heard Shiro laugh. Ten minute Skypes barely leave time to assure his family that he’s eating well, much less hear them laugh. “I already booked the flight! There’s a dance competition going on in Seoul that my crew and I were interested in, so I figured why the hell not bite the bullet and see my little brother?”

“You’re coming to Seoul!” Keith just shouts again. He’s laughing too, bubbles of excitement making it hard to sit still despite how exhausted he is from the day. Keith even goes as far as sitting up in bed, readjusting his laptop so that it’s sitting in front of him instead of resting propped on his stomach and held up by his knees.

The angle is better for his face, but Keith stopped trying to be pretty when it was Shiro. Shiro wouldn’t screenshot and share his candid shots on Twitter like his fans (and some of his friends) would when he goes live.

“I’m coming to Seoul!” Shiro repeats. “I’m bringing the crew too! We’re booking a hotel, and a couple other dance teams are competing too. Do you think you’ll have time in your schedule to see us?”

“Text me the dates and I’ll check if I can move things around.” Keith runs a hand through his hair—it’s been recently cut, an undercut with a long top as is usual in the industry. He misses his old hair, if he’s being honest, but the freedom of short hair is nice, too. “Where are you staying? When does your plane come? Is eomma picking you up?”

“Yes.” Keith should be offended by the implied, ‘Obviously, Keith’ in Shiro’s tone, but he’s too excited by the dozens of ideas in his head right now.

He can finally bring Shiro to all the places he’s grown to love in Seoul! He can feed Shiro the barbecue that Keith goes to after dance rehearsal when he’s given some slack on his diet—Shiro can see the dance studio Keith almost lives in! Hell, Keith can have Shiro see his apartment with his own eyes now. The ideas keep coming, some more elaborate than others, but the overall gist is that Keith is finally going to be able to show Shiro the thing he loves, and he can finally hug his brother.

“Where are you staying?” Keith asks, coming back down to the here and the now. “Stay with me!”

“Do you even have the room?” Shiro arches his eyebrow, “I can get a hotel room—”

“No.” Keith is shaking his head. He wants so badly to be able to reach out and shake Shiro’s ridiculously broad shoulders and make his brother physically shake the idea of a hotel out of his head. “Stay with me! I can see you more if you stay!”

“What do you mean?”

It takes a moment for Keith to remember the words, and then he’s rambling. “I mean schedules! I have schedules and lessons—if you’re here in my house, then I can see you between them. I can’t go to your hotel as much. You’re only going to stay for a little, right?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks.” Keith repeats, adding a nod and making a mental note to request a lighter schedule for those two weeks. He can’t slack entirely, obviously, but he could use a little bit of a break before promotions begin. “Stay with me? Please? It’s easier.”

Shiro shrugs—Keith wonders how he’s able to move the bulk of his shoulders. Wouldn’t that much weight just slow Shiro down and make his movements that much more difficult? How has he managed with his dance crew?

Keith knows better than to ask that, though. Rule Number One of Dancer Etiquette: Never comment on their size or weight. Keith hates getting comments, even innocent ones, so he makes it a point not to make any comments either.

“Alright, but I’m going to be visiting eomma too—and I’ll be coming and going for rehearsals with my team. Will your managers have a problem with that?”

“No!” He’s even more excited now. “No! Security is tight around the building too, so you won’t be swarmed—”

“That’s a concern?”

He shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Ah, some of my fans are…ah…intense. You should be fine though—you pass as a resident. Or a foreigner. They won’t pay attention to you, I think?”

Shiro looks wary now. He’s gone from giddy to skeptical to wary in the span of ten minutes. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that Keith…I’ve seen what some of your fans can do—”

“It won’t happen!” Keith interrupts. “I promise! Please? Consider it?”

“I’ll consider it.”

It’s enough for Keith. The rest of the call goes smoothly; Keith asks more questions and Shiro asks Keith the usual questions for their call whenever he gets a chance to speak. Is Keith eating okay? How’s the weather? Is he sleeping enough? He heard there are rumors of another comeback—is Keith excited? How’s Lotor? Did Keith get a haircut?

Keith answers as usual: he’s fine. He’s excited, but realistic about his sales. Lotor is fine, too. The weather is fine.

Everything is fine.

Shiro hangs up not long after he notices how much Keith is yawning. It’s almost one in the morning now, later than Keith likes to be awake but still earlier than he gets to sleep most nights. Keith wants to take advantage of he extra hours of sleep he’ll be able to get before he has to start his schedule in the morning. He has vocal lessons at 6.

They say their goodbyes, promise to text and call. Keith makes Shiro promise to tell eomma that he loves her, and Shiro makes Keith promise to take care of himself. Keith shuts the laptop and slides out of bed to put it away.

He comes back to bed digging his fingers into his stomach. It still hurts—the exhaustion from earlier coming back to bite at him. The water bottle he always carries with him is abandoned on his kitchen table, Keith knows. He’s too lazy to go get it.

Stubborn, Keith settles one of his smaller pillows under his stomach and lays on it. The pressure of the pillow on his stomach almost makes the uncomfortable ache go away. Keith elects to ignore it. He pulls his phone out, eyes hurting against how bright the screen is.

He needs to make sure the photos of him haven’t gone viral. His hopes aren’t high, but he’s hoping he can at least track down the photo _now_ and let his PR manager tell him how to handle the situation to the rest of his fans.

Keith searches up the only username he remembers from this afternoon on YouTube as soon as he taps the app to life.

 

**New Video from LancelotOfDance! “K-POP IN PUBLIC CHALLENGE: RED – MUTE”**

**View**      Ignore

 

He hears the instrumental of his song come on—it’s significantly less distorted in the view than he’d expect. It looks like the official audio was edited over the recording audio. It was a good choice aesthetically—Keith can’t hear the voices of the crowd, or the stomps of the dancers’ feet. He cringes at the sound of his voice, though. Why couldn’t it have been a dance cover of his more recent song? What was so appealing about how nasally his voice used to sound? Honestly, Keith thinks it’s a crime that his vocal coach had even let him _record_ the song when he sounded like _that._

The video isn’t that different from the dancing Keith had seen earlier. The angle is different, obviously, taken from the front rather than from the side where Keith had witnessed the cover the first time around. He was still impressed with the skills of the dancers—he hadn’t had an easy time with that choreography when he’d been taught it. It was a lot of technical work to remember. This group almost made it look easy.

He smiled a little bit, because having talented fans makes him feel so happy. It clears from his face though when he remembers _why_ he’s lurking through YouTube. He needs to see if the small girl had kept her promise and not posted the photos anywhere.

Keith, not for the first time, wishes he had considered social media before debuting. Not that he would change it for anything; Keith loved his job. He loved the stage, the fans, making music, traveling…he loved everything that came with being an idol. He loved knowing that his music was making an impact beyond the people he immediately knew and spent time with. It was humbling to know that Keith actually made a difference to some people, as some of his fanmail had stated.

Keith loves being an idol. It just got tiring sometimes to have to be perfect every second of the day. He needed to have the perfect skin under extreme stress, the perfect temperament on no sleep and under exhausting schedules, and the perfect voice and the perfect body proportions. His entire career depended on maintaining the image of perfection that the idol industry made money on.

As someone who is decidedly not perfect, Keith struggles the most with this. He had to train his voice to the level it’s at now, and he’s still learning more from his vocal coach every lesson. His dancing always has room to improve, no matter how much Keith thinks: “This is it. This is as good as it gets.” Keith can always be _better._

His temper isn’t perfect, either. It’s quick, easily ignited, and explosive. He’s almost gotten in serious trouble with the company because of it several times before he’d learned to manage it. He still struggles to keep it in check sometimes, especially when he is constantly being watched, and when he meets some intense fans who won’t leave him alone to _sleep._

Keith won’t let rumors of favoritism or—god forbid—a dating scandal pile on top of his many close fuck-ups with his temper.

The video cuts out a few minutes later, the screen fading to an ending screen linking the dancers’ social media accounts. Keith paid close attention to every second of the video, scrolled down to the description box and everything. There weren’t any pictures in the video, thankfully. Keith clicks through each of the social media accounts meticulously. He goes through each linked Twitter account, Instagram, and Tumblr half afraid that in _this_ one, he’ll find the pictures.

There’s nothing.

Nobody has posted any photos.

Keith doesn’t relax. He checked Twitter—he searches his name, but nothing comes up aside from the usual fan tweets about him. He wants to like a few of them, having to admit that some of the memes are funny enough to make him laugh in the darkness of his room, but he refrains. He isn’t sure if he's on his public account, or on his private account, and he doesn’t really have the energy or state of mind to execute proper caution. Keith is exhausted.

He turns his phone off, resigned to check the same social media accounts over the next couple of days. He also makes a note to talk to his managers about his mistake in the morning. They won’t be pleased, but Keith can’t do anything else now.

He falls asleep resigned to the scolding he knows he’s going to receive.

 

…

 

One week later, Shiro arrives in Korea. He walks through customs clad in a custom designed hoodie with his dance crew’s logo on the back, and on the right arm. The _Atlas Dance Crew_ had a good following back in America. Last Keith checked, their YouTube channel had 24K subscribers, Keith included, of course. Keith wasn’t sure how many of those subscribers were from his own fanbase—his affectionately named Red Lions. They’d somehow found out about Keith’s relation to Shiro (Keith refuses to ask how—Twitter was a scary platform sometimes), and that Shiro had his own dance crew. His brother had sent Keith a text excited about the sudden spike of followers one morning, and Keith hadn’t had the heart to tell him that it might have something to do with his own fanbase.

He didn’t think it mattered, though. A following was a following. Maybe they were there because of Keith, but they stayed for Shiro and his talent. It was nice to know that his Red Lions would support his family, though. Keith loved how loyal his fans were.

Shiro’s jacket was black and white, thankfully, not the hideous orange and white color scheme of the rest of the crew. As the leader, Shiro kept the monochrome coloring to distinguish himself. Keith—once again—thanked anyone who was listening that Shiro had made that color decision. It made it less obvious when Keith rushed towards his brother, ignoring Shiro’s yelp and the thud of his luggage falling to the hard floor.

“Shiro!” Keith yelled, positively excited, and wow, when had his brother gotten so _buff?_ Weren’t dancers supposed to be _smaller?!_ Keith was almost jealous, but he remembered that he danced better when he was smaller. “Holy shit, you’re big! What do you eat?!”

Shiro laughed, deeper and louder than on Skype. Keith teared up a little. Shit, he hadn’t actually realized how much he’s missed Shiro. “More than you, obviously! You’re so tiny!”

Vaguely offended, Keith pulled back from Shiro. He wiped his eyes quickly—must eliminate evidence—and crossed his arms across his chest. “I am _not._ ”

He doesn’t see how Shiro can even see the size of Keith’s proportions right now: Keith is practically shapeless right now. He’d chosen to wear the baggiest black sweatshirt he owns and joggers he tucked into his favorite red sneakers. His hair was down and covering his eyes, and his usual black facemask was tucked underneath his chin. Keith certainly didn’t _look_ tiny right now—He looked like a blob of a person.

“Tiny.” Shiro repeated, a ridiculously huge smile across his stupid face, eyes disappearing behind his puffed-up cheeks. He reaches out and then his obnoxiously big hands are wrapped around Keith’s bicep, and Keith flushes red because he isn’t _tiny_ dammit. “Seriously. Have you been eating enough?”

“Yes.” Keith grumbled. He snatches his arm back, pouting his lip now. “I eat more than enough. I’ve put on weight.”

He wasn’t lying, either—Keith’s last weigh-in had shown a 4kg increase in his ideal weight range for his comeback seasons. He had been too relaxed about his portions, and he needed to fix it. Maybe then he wouldn’t be slacking so much in his lessons.

Shiro purses his lips, but wisely chooses not to say anything. Instead, he bends down to pick up his dropped luggage from the floor. “Should we go?”

Keith immediately nods. He’d noticed a few camera flashes that had started to go off during his interaction with Shiro. Soon, he suspected he’d be recognized. Keith pulled his mask back up. “Let’s go. The car is right outside.”

“Still can’t drive?” Shiro asked, smile playful.

Keith shrugs. “It’s not a priority of mine at the moment.”

Shiro nods. “Your comeback is the priority, right?”

“Yes.” Keith says. He struggles to remember the words as he continues. “Promotions will start soon, according to manager-nim. As soon as you leave, my schedule will be solidified.” He pauses, hesitates and adds, “I might tour.”

The change in Shiro is immediate. He perks right up. “Shit, Keith! This is big news! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Keith shrugs. He weaves through the small crowd easily, not touching anybody. “It’s not a guarantee. My sales are good, but they may drop this comeback. We have to think of this realistically.”

“You’ll outsell.” Shiro says confidently. “You’re talented, Keith.”

“So is Lotor.” Keith counters. He wrings his fingers together nervously. “And GENN-Z. And Rolo and—”

“Okay, okay.” Shiro interrupts. Keith purses his lips—he doesn’t like being interrupted. “I get it. Everyone is talented in the industry. But you’ll still outsell. You’ve really improved.”

“Improvement does not equal success.” Keith says moodily, but he refuses to say anything more on the matter regardless of how much Shiro tries to push and reassure. Keith shrugs the topic off, climbs into the car he had waiting for them.

Shiro climbs into the backseat with Keith, tells the driver to take them back to Keith’s apartment, and the ride is silent.

It is far from comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor baby keith :( Things are starting to get stressful, and shiro hasn't even been there an entire day yet :( 
> 
> Remember to leave a kudos or comment below if you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

“Again.” Kolivan says. The music restarts.

Keith is breathing heavily, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, but he gets into position as the opening notes to the music begin. His feet are planted shoulder-width apart, hands settled in fists at his sides. He inhales shakily, pulls his arms close to his chest in short jolts, swinging them once, and falls back into the choreography.

Kolivan’s gaze is heavy and scrutinizing as Keith goes through the movements. He barks out occasional corrections to Keith’s form—“Stand straighter. Tighten your movements—good. Bring the leg in.”

Keith adjusts as best as he can. The choreography is significantly harder than he thinks it has any right to be considering he’ll be expected to sing live once award season starts. He doesn’t voice his criticism though. Kolivan is a great instructor; he wouldn’t give Keith more than he knows Keith can handle.

Shiro doesn’t know this. In the floor length mirrors of the studio, Keith catches glimpses of Shiro’s expression twisted in displeasure. He doesn’t take time to address them, too engulfed in making sure his muscle memory learns the movements _correctly_. Keith needs to get this _perfect._ He needs to do _better_.

“Stop.” Kolivan cuts off the music. “The transition isn’t working here. It’s awkward at best.”

Keith doubles over, his hands on his knees to hold his shaking limbs steady. “What?” Keith asks breathlessly.

Kolivan repeats his statement, adding, “You’re too tense in the beginning. You’re falling behind.”

Now that he isn’t moving, Keith clearly sees Shiro’s displeasure deepen. He prays his brother will stay silent.

“My body hurts.” Keith confesses, flushing in shame.

“Take a break.” Kolivan says. His tone is noticeably gentler now. “Fifteen minutes. Then we’ll run through it once more, and begin the rest of your performances.”

Keith nods. He drags himself over to Shiro, plops down next to him and chugs from the water bottle he’d set there. Keith feels boneless, happily so. It means he’s working hard. There’s always been a bit of a euphoric effect on Keith when he works out.

“So…this is why you never have energy for our Skypes?” Shiro speaks up. His voice is deceptively conversational.

Keith hums, drinking more water. He flops back onto the floor, stretching out and relishing in the pops from his spine. He has an appointment with his Pilates instructor later this week. “What do you think? Of the choreography?”

“Well…” Shiro says slowly. “It looks good. I just worry it’s too intense—”

“It’s fine.” Keith snaps. He shuts up, remembers who he’s talking to, and the age gap, and apologizes quickly. “Sorry. But it’s fine. I need to increase my difficulty at some point—a lot of groups’ have better stage presence. I don’t have the backing of other members picking up my slack to rely on. My backup dancers can’t be picking up my slack, either.”

Shiro isn’t pleased by this, obviously. “You’re pushing yourself.”

“I’m just working hard.” Keith says. He’s trying hard not to say what he’s thinking. He doesn’t want to make Shiro feel guilty for anything, but Shiro had drawn the easier stick than Keith had. Shiro had down time, Keith did not. Shiro’s life didn’t revolve around being perfect and entertaining like Keith’s did. Keith’s private life, presentation, and work ethic all belonged to the company that kept him employed. Once again, Keith envied Shiro’s decision to just _dance_ in America, but he’d worked too hard to quit now.

Keith was too ambitious to give up everything he’d worked for because things were getting “hard”.

“You still need to rest.”

“I am resting.” Keith says honestly. “I have two weeks of rest. I just need to work hard in between rest for the comeback. There are a lot of things to do still.”

Still displeased, Shiro drops the subject.

Keith starts to wonder if maybe Shiro’s visit was a good idea after all. He silently sips on his water for the remainder of his break, slowly stretching his muscles in between drinks. His legs are starting to feel heavy, so he stands up and paces idly. He can’t let himself feel tired just yet since there’s still so much work to do.

“Hey.” Shiro startles Keith’s attention back to him. “Do you have time to go to dinner after this? Mom is asking.”

He mentally runs through his schedule for the day and for tomorrow. He has some wiggle room after this lesson to spend time with his family. His voice lesson in the morning doesn’t require him to be fully awake, thankfully. His vocal coach—Antok—is very lenient and understanding of Keith’s schedules, and considering how much Keith’s voice has improved from when Antok was hired, he’s given some slack. He momentary mourns the lack of coffee he’ll be able to have tomorrow (nothing but water and hot tea for his throat to prevent any build up on his vocal chords) but he can get through it.

“Dinner works.” Keith says. His entire body relaxes when Shiro beams, happy with the plans. He returns to his phone right as Kolivan re-enters the room. “I’ll pay.”

“Here.” Kolivan tosses a jacket at Keith—it’s one of the jackets he’d had to use for his last album’s performances. Keith pulled it to his face, sniffed it, and was pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t pungent with the reek of sweat like it had been the last time Keith had been in it—post concert. “Show me what you remember from Red Light.”

Keith nods. He slips his arms through the sleeves, soft to the touch, and zips the jacket up.

“Oh, I remember this one.” Shiro comments pleasantly. He’s grinning at Keith, who’s now bright red.

Of course Shiro would remember _this_ song. Through the point of view of a sex worker, the lyrics are a narrative of being stuck in a position where they feel helpless, yet powerful in their ability to entice people. Truth be told, Red Light is the song Keith is most proud of in his entire repertoire of songs. He’d taken a month to write it, making sure the lyrics spun exactly the message he wanted without fetishizing sex work. Red Light was one of his most popular songs, with 600k streams on Spotify last time he had checked, with a faster tempo than most songs of darker subjects did, and done in a distorted minor key that contradicted most of Keith’s music.

In accordance to the general mood of Red Light, the choreography was more on the sensual side. There were slower textured movements Keith had spent weeks perfecting and sudden jerks of his body to prove there was an internal struggle. It was his favorite choreography, too, but that didn’t mean Keith didn’t get a little embarrassed knowing that his more risky dancing was viral. It was even more embarrassing to know his brother had seen Keith at his—as Lotor says—hoe-iest. He was twenty-one, yes, but Keith was still a little shy.

A little bit, because he knew he looked good performing. The stylists worked too hard to make him look good for him to pretend their work isn’t paying off.

So, with pink cheeks, Keith pulls himself into the Zone and gets into position.

“Don’t laugh.” He warns his brother. The music begins at his gesture, and Keith is off.

He runs through Red Light without stopping, the muscle memory coming back to him easily enough. It hasn’t been that long since he’s performed the song, so it’s easier to remember the sequences. The parts he doesn’t remember as strongly he improvises for. Kolivan will help him relearn his choreography, so Keith let’s himself have fun. He let’s his tired muscles relax and shift through the movements, catching his own eyes in the mirror and shifting his expression until it’s darker, more seductive. He hoods his eyes, curls his lips up, and lets the stage persona of RED take over and the room fade away. It’s just Keith, the music, and the imaginary stage he sets up for himself.

He finishes off the dance on the ground, jacket now across the room, his back to it and his hands fisted in his hair, one knee drawn in and the other leg out. Breathing hard, Keith smiles.

He’s still got it.

“Good.” Kolivan praises, stepping over and reaching a hand to help Keith into a standing position.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, and maybe he’s a little too excited for praise, but Kolivan very rarely voices when Keith does a good job. Kolivan’s approval is usually nonverbal nods and lack of criticism. It’s how his instructor works.

“Yes.” Kolivan drops the jacket onto Keith’s face, eliciting a laugh from the idol. “Your expressions are much better now. We’ll go over the sections you forgot though. Your improvisation was good thinking, but it’s better to know the choreography.”

 “Is the tour confirmed?”

 “That’s a talk with your manager.”

Keith nods, and gets back into the practice. Shiro is a quiet pillar on the wall that Keith eventually forgets about until his lesson is over. Keith is sweaty, he’s tired, and he sounds like he’s sprinted ten miles. Shiro comes over to him calm and smelling like clean sweat.

“Dinner?” Shiro asks. Keith beams up at him, content now that his body finally feels like he’s worked hard enough.

“Yes. I know a place.”

 

 

 

 

Despite being dead on his feet, dinner goes well. Keith hugs his mother tightly while she frets and checks him over, running her tongue over her cheek complaining about how little idols weigh, honestly, don’t they feed you boys! Keith laughs off her concern, assures her that, yes, he is eating perfectly well, he just exercises a lot. His father is less overbearing, but still hugs Keith tightly.

They all end up hugging Shiro before sitting down to the meal. The restaurant Keith had picked out was a new restaurant. The owner had given Keith a free dish when he’d first met him—At the time, Keith’s face had been entirely covered. The owner had assumed Keith was homeless, and had given him a meal at no charge. The kindness inspired Keith to tweet about the restaurant six months ago, and he’s become a regular customer.

It was Japanese food—Keith had brought his family here for the familiarity it would provide them. His father was from Japan and had moved to Korea with a then 2 year old Shiro after a divorce with his first wife. He’d met Keith’s mother at the airport, quite literally bumping into her and spilling coffee on her. She had insisted he pay for her dry cleaning and they had exchanged numbers.

Five years later, Keith had been born.

His father missed Japan, so Keith knew having some dishes from his home would be nice.

“So.” His father started to say after the waiter had left with their menus. “What’s this Takashi has been telling me about a comeback?”

“Oh! A comeback! You haven’t mentioned anything to us!” His mother scolds.

Keith shoots Shiro a dirty look across the table. “Nothing is solidified yet, eomma. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, but someone has loose lips.”

Shiro has the decency to look ashamed, but doesn’t apologize. “Your comeback is solidified—the tour isn’t.”

His mother swats Keith on the arm, and he fakes an offended expression. “You need to tell us these things!”

“It’s on twitter!” Keith defends.

“We don’t know how to use the bird application.” Keith’s father chuckles. “Your mother and I only have it as a courtesy to you and Shiro—you know this.”

Keith pouts. “Well…my album releases in two months, and then my performances will start. I’ll let you know when they’ll air so you can watch?”

It’s a compromise his parents accept. They’ve tried their best to keep up with Keith’s schedules, but honestly, even Keith has a hard time managing his own time and remembering when he needs to go where. All he knows is that if he’s feeling like he has free time, then there’s a lesson or appearance he needs to make that he’s missing. Thank god he has his manager and an assistant to remind him of his schedule at all hours of the day.

Keith makes a mental note to send them a thank you gift.

 Dinner continues smoothly—his parents are beyond ecstatic to have both of their sons together again. Keith hadn’t considered how hard it must be for his parents to have both of their children so busy and feels a pang of guilt of leaving them alone so much since he’s the closest one to them. Shiro is in America with his dance crew, so he has a good reason to be gone so long. Keith is still in Seoul. He should visit his parents more.

After dinner, Shiro and Keith part from his parents. They’re staying in a hotel nearby for the duration of Shiro’s visit—paid for by Keith, of course. Now that he has a large stable income, he’s going to be helping his parents financially as much as they’ll allow him. After parting, Keith and Shiro start the walk back to Keith’s apartment.

“So.” Shiro slows down his walk a block away from Keith’s apartment building. “They missed you.”

“They missed you too.” Keith immediately says.

“Yes. But we both know I have more contact with them. They didn’t even know you were working on a new album. You haven’t called them?”

“I’ve tried.” And now Keith is frustrated. He doesn’t like the accusations Shiro is implying. Keith is _busy_. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to call his parents—his schedule is so full he barely has any time for himself to sleep. He would love to keep in touch more, has tried very hard to carve time out of his day for his family, but it’s hard when he usually comes home to sleep for two hours and gets back up to run through a new schedule. Why does nobody seem to understand that?

“I know.” Shiro settles his hand on Keith’s shoulder like he used to when they were younger, and Keith would come home seething because the kids in school were picking on him again. “I’m just saying—they really missed you. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

  _I_ _t sure sounds like it._

“Yeah. I know.” Keith shakes Shiro’s hand off. “They miss you too, America’s Best Dancer. Golden Boy Shiro.”

Shiro blushes. He ducks his head down, completely missing the shit-eating grin Keith’s sporting on his face. “Nobody calls me that.”

“The entire YouTube comment section calls you that. Look.” Keith pulls his phone out, loading up the latest dance practice video Shiro had uploaded onto the team’s YouTube channel and scrolling down to the comment section. “Don’t you ever lie to my face again. You forget I still know English.”

“Oh, so you have time to stalk my YouTube comments but not to Skype me longer than twenty minutes?” He grumbles.

Keith’s smile wipes off of his face. He silently shuffles the phone back into his pocket, glaring at Shiro. “You don’t understand.”

“Keith, I didn’t mean to—”

“Let’s drop it. You won’t understand. You’ve become too American.”

Shiro bristles. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. It means nothing. I am not going to fight with you.”

“I’m not trying to fight you!” He throws his hands up, visibly frustrated now. “You can’t just keep shutting me out every time I ask you about your job!”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Keith says stiffly. He doesn’t raise his voice—in the case that someone is listening, he can’t afford to go on camera yelling. His PR manager would skin him alive if that goes viral, and with Keith’s presence, it would be viral before morning.

“Fine.” Shiro straightens up. “I don’t want to fight with you, Keith, but you need to trust me. I’m not some idiot fan of yours. I’m your brother.”

Keith thinks they’re having two very different conversations, but he doesn’t want to figure out what they’re both trying to prove in his exhausted state. “Okay. Let’s go inside. I’m tired, and I want to sleep.”

Shiro nods, and that’s the end of it. Keith pretends he doesn’t notice the thick tension of words unsaid in the air.

He’s beginning to rethink his excitement for Shiro’s visit, but that’s a problem for another day. For now, Keith just shuffles into his apartment, toeing his shoes off at the entrance, and collapses into his bed after a long, hot shower. He closes his eyes, and decides that everything can wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen,,,  
> I had a very specific mood in mind when i described Red Light and I really wish I could compose music to show yall what I had in mind but until then...
> 
> consider it a combination of like Lie - Jimin and The Eve - EXO
> 
> it's along those lines
> 
> ALSO YO HAVE YALL HEARD PERSONA YET? DIONYSUS IS A B O P! I don't know WHAT we did to deserve that song, but i will forever be thankful for it
> 
> remember to leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed the chapter! <3


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